That thousands have gone o’er the hill—
Whilst he goes on revolving still—
Unto eternity!
If right ye ween, I’d have you be—
Yea! like that orb—as readily
Prepared to leave the Earth.
Ye high, ye low, ye rich, ye poor,
Ye crownèd head, ambassador,—
No matter rank or birth,—
Reflect ye: for, like as the leaf